Sophia
by hannah holmes
Summary: In which Watson tells the story of his sister
1. Sophia

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the following characters: Sherlock Holmes, Dr John Watson or Mrs Hudson Disclaimer: I do not own any of the following characters: Sherlock Holmes, Dr John Watson or Mrs Hudson. Narrative: Dr J Watson  
  
There have been many reasons that I have not mentioned my sister before. For a long time it was too painful for me and was a taboo subject for Holmes; now, many years later I find myself taking up my pen again, more for my own indulgence than any other reason.  
  
My sister was a two years my junior, and always the pet of my older brother and I. Her name was Sophia and a more sensitive and thoughtful soul you could not have hoped to meet. My father was always afraid that she would suffer from living in a house so dominated by men, without another female to keep her company (my mother having died shortly after her birth). I don't think she minded though; Sophia always preferred our company to that of her female peers.  
  
After I had left for medical school my father, deciding that Sophia needed to see some of the world, sent her (with Anna, a friend she had made during her school years) on a tour of Europe. This was particularly in vogue at the time for the wealthier members of society. My father had saved for many years to afford this, and though I think Sophia would have preferred to stay in England, she was too polite to refuse. For the first few months she wrote me long letters recounting her experiences in France and Belgium, but then I was attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers and my address was continuously changing, so I lost contact with her.  
  
We stayed estranged until one day I received a letter from her in my rooms in Baker Street. It read:  
  
To my Dear John, I am so sorry I did not write sooner; I had no address to post my many letters too, although I did try! The post on the continent is so unreliable. I have been in Budapest for the last week and can make head nor tail of the postal system; I am reaching the conclusion that they do not have one! Excuses aside, I do send my apologies for the lack of communication.  
  
I have heard about your awful injuries, and I send my sympathies. I have also shed my tears for our poor brother Mark. I was so very upset when I heard the news, and even more so when I could not come home for his funeral.  
  
In two days I should have returned to England, and I am going to stay with father for a week. Afterwards, maybe I could come to London. You could show me the sights, for I have only been once before, and of course tell me of your life now. I have heard a little and, I must say, it sounds intriguing. Please send a reply to Fathers address, and I will pick it up there. I will save all the things I want to say until I see you, which I hope will not be too long! Fondest Regards, Sophia  
  
This pleased me a lot, and as I smiled to myself, Holmes emerged from his bedroom and gave me a curious glance. "Good morning Watson, I see you have already broken fast. Ah - Mrs Hudson, thank you." He sat down, picking up the newspaper and the cup of coffee Mrs Hudson had just poured him. Holmes shot a few quick glances at the letter I still had clutched in my hands. He gave a small shrug and attempted to look disinterested as he dug into his eggs.  
  
"Well Holmes," I smiled mischievously "aren't you going to ask me what this letter is about?"  
  
I sat down opposite him. He looked slightly irritated, but then swallowed his pride.  
  
" Alright Watson, I can hardly deduce much when you're clutching it in your hands. Despite the obvious fact that it was written by a young woman who has spent time in the continent recently, I can see nothing."  
  
I ignored his accurate deductions, " I don't believe that you knew I had a sister Holmes." I said, trying to keep the victorious tone out of my voice. We had only been living together for little under a year, but it was the only real secret I had managed to keep from Holmes.  
  
"No Watson, I did not."  
  
I was pleased to note that he sounded slightly disgruntled.  
  
"Well, Holmes, I do, and soon you may have occasion to meet her. She should be coming here to London in the next couple of weeks."  
  
Holmes looked at me, his annoyance clear in his eyes "Am I correct in thinking that this is your only female relative living? Or are you getting ready to spring your mother and twelve aunts on me?"  
  
I thought this was a little hypocritical coming from the man that revealed nothing about his kith or kin to me, and said so. 


	2. Introductions

A/N—Ok, I am forcing another chapter on you 

A/N—Ok, I am forcing another chapter on you! Please review!! Please! It will make my day! Sorry if the last chapter was a bit short, I am going to attempt to make this one longer. K bye-bye

Hannah Holmes

The following day, Holmes and I took a long walk in Regents Park. It was a gloriously hot day, and I had persuaded Holmes to emerge from his smoke-filled room and accompany me. Though he had grumbled and complained at first, the lovely atmosphere had succeeded (though completely against his will) in brightening his mood.

We talked on a number of subjects as we walked. Finally the subject turned to that of my sister's visit.

"Well Holmes, I was hoping that you would accompany us on a few visits around London. I know that my sister would be interested in you, and I know you will like her," I talked over Holmes's protests, "I know you will like her, whatever you think of women."

We argued, quite amiably on this subject for some time, until we found ourselves back at our lodgings in Baker Street.

Just as we had settled down in our chairs, there was a knock on the door.

"Come in, Mrs Hudson." Called Holmes

In she bustled, carrying a huge tray, laden with cakes and tea. After placing the huge mound precariously on the small table by my armchair, she drew out three or four envelopes from her apron pocket.

"Here's the afternoon post, Mr Holmes."

He indicated for her to put it on the table.

"Thank you Mrs Hudson." I said to her retreating back. Holmes then stood up and went to examine the post.

"Bills, bills, -Ah Watson, I believe this one's for you." He threw the letter over to me, then picked up the others and fixed them to the mantelpiece as was his wont. 

Holmes sat down again, and drew his long thin legs up to his chest. "So Watson, what does your sister have to say?"

"Only that she will arrive by the 11 o'clock train at Victoria station this Saturday." 

Holmes nodded, then turned his attention to filling his pipe with his noxious shag tobacco.

"I trust," I said, looking over at him, "that you will be accompanying me to meet her from the station?"

Holmes looked slightly irritated.

"Well, it doesn't look like you're going to let me do anything else."

"That's quite right Holmes."

"Hmm."

Then he went back to filling his pipe, and didn't talk to me for the rest of the night. I knew that I had beaten him.

Saturday came quickly, and it felt like hardly any time had passed before Holmes and I were waiting on the platform of Victoria station. I craned my neck, looking over the mass of people for a glimpse of my sister. Finally I spotted her.

"Sophia, I'm over here." I called, waving frantically.

She spotted me immediately, and ran over, her face lighting up into a radiant smile. I pulled her into a hug.   
"John, how well you look!" she said, finally pulling away.

"You too, Sophia."

My sister was looking particularly beautiful. She had long black hair, and clear blue eyes, which betrayed her emotions. She was wearing a simple red dress and travelling cloak.

She turned her attention to Holmes.

"You must be Mr Holmes," She said, shaking his hand. "I have heard of your remarkable powers Mr Holmes, you are famous on the Continent as well."

"Whatever you have heard, it is probably a gross exaggeration." Holmes replied modestly.

As we walked out of the station, Holmes and Sophia talked. To begin with, Holmes seemed reluctant to be dragged into a long conversation, but after a few minutes in the hansom cab, they were discussing the work Kant, and his systematic synthesis. The discussion did not stop there, all the way to Baker street they argued good-naturedly on the merits of different philosophers.

Once inside our house though, Holmes broke away to go and ask Mrs Hudson for a late breakfast (my sister had not eaten yet)

"So John," she said, as we sat down. "Will you come with me to my hotel later on? I told them that I would be arriving after midday."

"Of course." I replied.

Holmes then walked in, Mrs Hudson following him closely, balancing numerous plates and cups on her arms. Holmes was carrying a pot of tea and another one of coffee.

Mrs Hudson had made a huge effort with all this food. She never got a chance to when cooking for Holmes, who never ate very much, if he ate anything at all.

As I walked her to her hotel, she told me stories of her visit to Romania. They were so interesting, I was unwilling to leave her when we reached Marble Arch. We agreed that I would meet her at her hotel tomorrow morning at ten o'clock.

"Will your friend Mr Holmes be joining us again?"

"I don't know Sophia, no one apart from Holmes knows what he is going to do. Why, would you lie him to?"

To my surprise, my sister blushed.

"He seems very nice."


	3. Wagner

Disclaimer—apart from Holmes, Watson and Mrs. Hudson, I've also borrowed Lestrade for this chapter, yes, I don't own him either!

A/N REVIEW!! Pleaseeee! I haven't got many reviews for this yet, and I would really like some!

The next morning I ventured to ask Holmes if he would care to come with Sophia and I to visit some of Londons many sights. Holmes though, was expecting a call from Lestrade later, over some simple case, that Holmes said was "Totally out of his depth, as usual."

At half-past nine, I set off to pick up my sister from her hotel. It was another hot day, and everyone around seemed to be in a good mood. This is why, I remembered, I liked London so much. There was such a strong feeling of human fellowship; everybody smiled at eachother as they went about their business. Of course, I had also seen the dregs of this community, the murderers and thieves that Holmes had to deal with. Some people have expressed amazement that I have not become disgusted and repulsed by human nature over the years, but it has not. In actual fact, I believe it has strengthened my appreciation for the basic kindness that all of us possess. Anyhow, I am digressing.

Again, my sister looked lovely. It is amazing how two siblings can look so different. I am naturally quite stocky and square, with sandy brown hair and brown eyes, basically I take after my father. Though I do not remember that much of my mother, as I was quite young when she died, Sophia always reminded me of her. She was as tall as me, with a slim figure that made her look as graceful as a cat. Her long black hair was always braided as a girl, but now she wore it down, as if it was a silky black frame for her head. Today she was wearing a hat and matching plum dress.

"Good morning John dear, is it just us today?" she enquired after giving me a small hug.

"Yes, I regret to say that Holmes had an engagement with a detective from Scotland Yard."

Sophia expressed interest in Holmes' work, and as we walked around London, I told her of some of the cases we had dealt with in the past. Sometimes she went pale as I recounted the terrible danger we had been placed in, but when I asked her if she wished me to stop, she merely shook her head and asked me to continue.

That day, we saw Buckingham palace, St James' park, Oxford street and a number of other places of interest. By the early afternoon, my sister told me that she was tired, so I hailed a cab and we went back to Baker Street. As we walked up the seventeen steps, the sound of Holmes' violin reached my ears. For once, he was actually playing a tune, instead of his usual scraping chords. It was a light and tuneful folk piece, most probably composed by Holmes. 

Holmes was facing away from us when we entered, and he didn't seem to notice. I was not sure if this was just obtuseness on his part, or if he had simply not heard out entrance.

"Good day Holmes." I said rather loudly

Holmes jumped, which was uncharacteristic of him.

"I do beg your pardon." He apologized.

"Not at all Mr. Holmes, I am sorry for having interrupted such a beautiful piece of music!" said my sister. " Please, would you play me something else?" 

"Of course, and please," said Homes, "call me Sherlock."

***

That evening (for we had spent the rest of the day in our lodgings) we all dined at Simpsons. The conversation was light, and Holmes managed to keep up a variety of subjects. As I have mentioned before, I he was in the right mood, Holmes could converse for hours, treating each subject as if it was his field of expertise. Tonight he was positively scintillating.

My sister seemed particularly interested in how he learnt to play the violin, and begged to hear the story. 

"Well," said Holmes, thinking for a second. "When I was a young boy, I think I was eight years of age, my father contracted diphtheria. He knew that his death was near, and my brother and I were granted an audience with him. He passed on some of his more treasured belongings to us, giving me a violin that his grandfather had hand-crafted."

Both Sophia and I were paying full attention to Holmes' story.

"After his inevitable death a few days later, I pleaded with my mother to let me find a tutor, as I had been home-schooled by my father up until that time. We found one fellow, he was a great inspiration to me, and also happened to be something of a virtuoso on the violin. He taught me up until I was 12, when we moved, and I began to attend Eton."

Conversation drifted on to other subjects, but for a while afterwards, I sat pondering on Holmes' sudden frankness and willingness to tell the personal details that he normally kept so secret, even to me, his best friend. I knew it must be something to do with Sophia, she had a calming effect on his strained nature. 

The meal was coming to an end, and as none of us cared for dessert, we decided to leave. As we walked out of the door, I put my hands into the pockets of my coat, and felt a few hard slips of card. I berated myself for being too absent-minded. Yesterday, upon seeing posters outside the theater at Covent Garden for a Wagner night, I had hurried in to purchase tickets for my sister and myself. She had always loved Wagner

"Holmes, you like Wagner don't you?"

He eyed me suspiciously, "Yes. Yes Watson I do, but wh…"

"Ah. I'm glad of that Holmes," I said, interrupting him, "You see, I had completely forgotten about the tickets I purchased for Wagner night at the music hall. I'm afraid that I am feeling rather tired. I would appreciate it if you would escort Sophia there, for I know she loves Wagner and would not like to miss it."

Holmes looked slightly mutinous, and I feared that he was about to start complaining, but then he seemed to remember my sister's presence and checked himself.

"I would like it very much if you would come with me." Commented Sophia quietly.

Was it my imagination, or did a faint red tinge appear on Holmes' cheeks? Whether real or not, they disappeared quickly.

"Yes, I will come, I have heard that the orchestra there are quite impressive, and would like to see this for myself." He turned to me, and said quietly, 'I will take your sister back to her hotel. Good evening Watson."

I walked a little way, and then turned around just in time to see them both stepping into a hansom cab that Holmes had hailed. They were both talking happily, and as I turned back to resume my journey home, I heard Holmes laugh at something Sophia said. I couldn't help it, as I walked along I smiled happily to myself, earning a few curious looks from strangers passing by.


	4. the Journal

A/N: ok this chapter is written in a slightly different style. If you liked it please tell me in your **review, **and I might do another chapter like this in a while.

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes or Dr John Watson, as I'm sure you already know (!) I'm making no money out of this, so please don't sue!

I now own most of my sister's possessions, including a large box of documents and writing. The thing that reminded me of this whole story was her journal from the time, which I found whilst rummaging around one rainy day. At first I shied away from reading something so personal, but after a while curiosity got the better of me.

Sophia had always religiously kept her journal, ever since she learnt to write. When we were very young, she used to read me excerpts, just about mundane subjects such as what she had for lunch. I was not surprised when I came across the stack of neatly piled and dated journals.

Of course, I would not dream of putting my sister's diaries infront of the public. But, as I have mentioned before, this is one story I never intend to publish, just to store away and maybe look over now and again.

This is an excerpt from Sophia's journal from the first week she stayed in London with me:

__

Sunday 13th May

10:30 AM. I have been travelling on this stifling train for 4 hours now. The train is such a British way of transport. Though they do have them in the other countries that I have visited, they are nowhere near so well-established and frequent. It was one of those little things that I missed whilst on the Continent. The sound of a carriage bumping over the tracks has a calming effect on me for some reason.

We have entered the suburbs of London now, oh! I am so excited about seeing John again! I feared that he would not want to see me after so long a gap. Of course, I underestimated how warm and forgiving his heart is; I always do.

Soon we will be arriving at Victoria station.

10:45 PM I cannot write for long, as I fear I will fall asleep at the table!

John was lovely, and looked very well. He is sharing rooms with Mr. Sherlock Holmes, a tall and lean man. He is so extremely thin, though he does not look emaciated. His eyes are what intrigued me the most though, they are a light dancing grey, and speak volumes of his intelligence and quick wit. 

We talked on many matters, and I think at first that he was surprised at my depth of knowledge on some subjects. Mr Holmes soon recovered from that though, and brandished his razor-sharp wit and intellect.

John's rooms were very cosy, with stacks of books, letters and other bric-a-brac occupying every available place. A number of pipes lay scattered upon the mantle-piece. I had noted before that Holmes was a lover of strong (and I daresay frequent) tobacco for smoking.

Now, to bed!

Sunday 13th May

11PM. Well, today was very enjoyable! John has insisted on taking me around the sites of London, though I am sure that he knows all I want is his company. As we walked around today, we played our old childhood game of spotting a person and making a story for them. This is how we got on to the subject of Sherlock Holmes.

Of course, I had heard his name before, and knew of his abilities in deduction and observation. John told me of some of their cases together. Oh, how I would have loved to be part of them! To feel the 'thrill of the hunt' and accompany Holmes on his exploits. I envy my brother in some ways, restricted as I am by my sex. Not that being a woman is unsatisfactory in any way, I just crave freedom sometimes.

Today I found out that Holmes (I am afraid that I have got into the habit of calling him that, even though he has now asked me to call him Sherlock.) was a magnificent violin player. Beautiful music brings tears to my eyes, and affects me in ways even I cannot imagine. After his stunning performance this afternoon, I found that I was n the edge of my seat. He holds the violin with a firm grip, but only touches it with the lightest, most delicate caresses. Whenever I see those hands, a shiver passes down my spine. They are so thin and beautiful, though by no means weak. Yes, I can imagine them having a grip of steel. 

My brothers attempt to let me and Holmes spend some time alone, though well meant, was completely transparent. It did have the desired effect though, as Sherlock and I had a thoroughly enjoyable night.

As we walked through Covent garden, I felt like one of the opera-going ladies of the city. To Holmes' surprise (and mine) I took his arm, and linked it through mine. At first, I felt the muscles in his arm tense with shock, but he did not pull away.

"So, Sophia, what do you think of London so far?" he asked me, after a few moments silence.

"Well, it has a certain je ne sais quoi about it, (A/N- for non french-speaking readers out there, je ne sais quoi can be translated as 'I do not know') _I can see why you choose it as your home. You must never be out of work with all the crimes that go on night and day."_

"But you would not choose it to live in?' He queried.

"I don't think that I have seen enough of it to really judge. My dear brother insists on taking me to all the sites of attraction. I would much prefer to be shown the alleys and old courtyards of London though, to see where people have lived for hundreds of years. Not just a display of grandeur."

"Yes, I quite agree," said Holmes. "It is the small elements just as much as the famous ones that make up a city. London definitely has a character, and the small forgotten streets are saturated with it. Well, Miss Watson, forgive me if I am being forward, but I would be happy to show you some of the less spectacular sites of London. That is…if you want to.."

I looked up at his face at this point, and was surprised at how young and unsure he was suddenly looking. I stifled the small laugh that was bubbling up in my throat and said,

"Yes. Yes, I would love that Sherlock, and please, call me Sophia."

*******

__


	5. A shock

A/N - Well, I haven't continued this for over a year now, and only recently remembered it. I'm a little embarrassed over parts of it, but I thought I would continue the story as I'd like to see if my writing style has matured at all. Please review and tell me what you think.  
  
Another few days passed, and, to my dismay, my sister's visit was drawing to a close. We had spent the rest of our time strolling around the great city; I showed her some of the more renowned museums. Although she seemed interested, she was distant from me during those days. Her eyes often seemed to be fixed on a far-off object and a small smile played on her lips for no apparent reason. Neither of us had seen much of Holmes during that time; Lestrade had been calling on him continuously and when I asked if he was occupied with a case he brushed off my curiosity saying that Lestrade's problems could hardly be merited with the terms 'cases'.  
  
So it was that I found my sister and I alone on the last day of her visit. Before dinner, which we had agreed to take at Simpson's again, she returned to her hotel to dress and I returned to Baker street. Holmes was there alone and seemed unoccupied. I had decided that I would invite him to dinner that night, as he and Sophia had seemed to enjoy one-another's company. He was smoking, his chair facing the wall. I approached him with a slight sense of anxiety; his tense posture seemed to suggest one of his bad moods had taken him.  
  
"Good afternoon Holmes."  
  
He hardly seemed aware of my presence.  
  
"I don't know if you're aware of it, but tonight is my sister's last night here. I thought you might care to join us for a farewell meal?"  
  
He remained silent, still facing the wall.  
  
"Holmes?" I inquired in an exasperated tone. Upon receiving no response I walked to my room, exasperated by the man.  
  
Just before I walked through the doorway however, he replied, "Watson - sorry, yes, I'd be delighted to come tonight. When and where?"  
  
After I had told him, he sprung out of his chair, thanked me, threw on his coat and left the rooms. I was left, wondering what went on in my friend's mind.  
  
I met Sophia at her hotel at seven. We caught a hansom to Simpson's and upon alighting, looking into the window, I saw the figure of Holmes, sitting alone at a table. Across his countenance was such an expression of melancholy I looked down again, embarrassed at seeing such emotion on my friend's usually stony face.  
  
But when we entered the restaurant, Holmes smiled and motioned for us to join him. He seemed, again, full of nervous energy, and the conversation skittered across many topics, finally alighting on my sister's plans. We had talked of them before and she had vaguely mentioned visiting father again, possibly for a longer time. Father's home was in Hertfordshire, in a small town where he was magistrate. I was slightly surprised at this, as there was not much for a young lady to do in that part of the world.  
  
"Are you sure you do not want to stay longer in London?" I asked, "If the hotel is too costly you could always stay in Baker street; I'm sure Mrs Hudson would be delighted, and the spare bedroom is fine." But she shook this off, saying "No John, I do not want to be a burden on you. Although I may return to London and maybe find employment as a secretary or typist, I've heard there is substantial pay for them."  
  
I noticed that whilst this discussion had been going on, Holmes had become quiet, his usually so closely-guarded features not able to disguise the melancholy expression of before. Quite suddenly, he stood up. "I am so sorry, but I have just remembered something of the utmost importance. I bid you a good journey for tomorrow, and I hope you can forgive me this rudeness, but I really must go." He walked quickly to the door.  
  
"Really, Holmes! Can it not wait until tomorrow?" I called after him, but he had already donned his coat and was stepping out of the doorway.  
  
Sophia looked shaken. "I hope I have not insulted him." She said worriedly, "That would be the last thing I would want to do." I tried to comfort her, telling her of Holmes' eccentric behaviour and tendency to rush off without warning. "I'm sure it was something to do with a case" I told her. But despite this Sophia was still looking upset by the time we parted. She had told me not to see her off the next morning as she was leaving from Euston station, which was just across from her hotel. I had grudgingly agreed, promising to write.  
  
I returned to Baker street and was surprised to find Holmes there. It seemed that he had thrown himself into some experiment, but when I came in he turned around, an apologetic look on his face. But before he could say anything I began admonishing him.  
  
"You should be ashamed of yourself Holmes. Sophia didn't deserve that, I'm sure you-  
  
" I know, Watson! Do you think I am proud of the way I behaved?" He turned to glare at me, and then stalked to his armchair, grabbing his pipe from the fireplace.  
  
"Then why, Holmes? I don't understand. But for whatever reason I think you should apologise to my sister. I'm sure you can catch her before she leaves tomorrow!"  
  
Holmes winced. "No. I cannot see her again."  
  
"Is she that bad? For a while I thought you liked her, you certainly seemed to enjoy her company before. Has she offended you? Or is your rudeness completely undeserved?"  
  
He turned to me, his voice tight and cold. "Your sister has not offended me, quite the contrary. Yet I still cannot see her again, not even to apologize."  
  
"I don't understand Holmes."  
  
"Can't you see Watson. I love you sister. I've tried to suppress this, but I have been attracted to her from the first time I saw her."  
  
I gaped stupidly, lost for words.  
  
"Now you know, I think I will go to bed."  
  
Holmes rose, his face contorted with a mixture of emotions. He seemed angry, upset and mortified. He walked with dignity to his door, where he turned, gave me one last awful look and then left me alone with this shocking news.  
  
Please review! 


	6. Watson muses

A/N – Thanks for the reviews. I'm getting into this again! I thought I'd write a little chapter... Hope you like it  
  
Holmes wasn't at Baker Street in the morning. I wasn't surprised at this; after the outburst of emotion last night I hadn't expected him to be here in the morning. He had left a note though. I picked it up curiously; in his neat script it read:  
  
'Watson, I sincerely hope my actions last night have not disrupted too much; I do not deserve you friendship, nor that of your sister and I can only hope that the damage done is not irreparable. I have behaved inappropriately and, worse than that, insultingly. The only consolation I can offer is that even if you forgive me, I will not forgive myself. H'  
  
This letter was unlike Holmes' usual flippant style and it made me uneasy; his bruised pride would take a long time to recover. I slipped the note into my pocket and rang for my breakfast. As I was waiting I slipped into a reverie and found myself probing my own feelings on the subject.  
  
At first I had been angry. I had felt as if Holmes had betrayed my trust in some way; he had taken my sister's innocent interest in him and twisted it into love. How could Holmes love her, I had thought. His misogynistic nature would not allow it, surely?  
  
But as I had lain through the night (for I could not sleep) I looked at it more logically. I knew my sister was an attractive young woman - yes a woman, not a girl anymore – intelligent and witty also. As I thought over the last few days my sister's small smiles and dreamy expression came back to me. Could it be possible that she reciprocated his feelings? I had never thought Holmes the most attractive of men; it was not in his nature to be charming, but despite this the idea was not impossible. He was intelligent and not intimidated by hers and despite being slightly severe, his physical features were not unpleasant either; his face was a strong one and his body lean. But it all seemed so unlikely...  
  
And so I was left, pondering over my breakfast, wondering what my feelings really were and what I should do. I was adamant to find Holmes at least, and tell him that he needn't be shamed. But where could he be?  
  
And what should I do about Sophia? 


	7. Return

A few days passed and I saw nothing of Holmes. Instead, I calmed myself by taking leisurely walks around the city parks. It was the end of summer, teetering on the precipice of autumn. I had found that this weather was the most congenial for my wounded leg, which often began aching when I walked for too long. I often found myself on benches, relaxing and observing the people around me.  
  
It was during one of these reveries that I spotted Holmes. I did not see him immediately, for he was sporting a pair of mutton-chop sideburns that added years to his face and seemed to have applied wrinkles around his eyes and forehead. I would not have recognised him at all if I had not caught sight of those piercing grey eyes. He stared right at me for one short second, then raised his finger quickly to his mouth and continued off out of the park.  
  
I mused on this as I walked back home, and came to the conclusion that he must be involved in a case; there was no other explanation for his appearance. It still seemed slightly strange – who would Holmes have been tracking in broad daylight in St. James' park? There were many ladies and gentlemen strolling in the muted heat, but, as far as I could see, no traces of the criminal class that Holmes was normally involved with. My questions did not have to wait for long though, as Holmes was waiting for me back in Baker street.  
  
He seemed to have completely forgotten the scene of three days ago, and was at total ease in the living room when I entered.  
  
'Ah, Watson! Splendid to see you!'  
  
He was still wearing the mutton-chops, although some of the wrinkles seemed to have disappeared. I wasn't sure how to reply to him, but decided the questions regarding my sister, which I had been contemplating for the past days, were too important too be left unsaid.  
  
'Holmes, do you not remember why you left three days ago? I have been worrying about you since, and now, now you turn up here, acting as though nothing has happened!'  
  
I confess that here my emotions took the better of me, and I abruptly sat down in the chair Holmes had pulled out for me. He regarded me with an amused twinkle in those sardonic eyes.  
  
'Of course I remember what happened, friend Watson,' His face became more serious as he continued. 'I have immersed myself completely in a case that came my way; A trifling matter, no features for you to romanticise, but still presenting some pretty problems. I emerged from it, refreshed and completely sure over how to treat this matter with your, ah, your sister.'  
  
'And how do you intend to treat it? She is not some abstruse problem! She is an intelligent human being and deserves to be -'  
  
Holmes cut me off here, saying 'You have not let me finish. If anyone fully appreciates your sister's intelligence, despite all prejudices thrown against her and her sex...' He stopped for a moment here, perhaps aware of the irony in what he was saying, a confirmed misogynist. 'well, it would be me. I have experienced the pleasure of talking to her, of seeing that wholly self-honed mind. But despite your sister's many positive traits, I am afraid I have disgraced myself and cannot continue any kind of correspondence or friendship with her.'  
  
He said all of this in such a matter-of-fact tone that I would have been outraged, had I not seen the glint of real emotion in his eyes. I felt for my friend; his heart and his proud brain seemed in battle with each other. There was no doubt in my mind that he loved my sister, and that he would make a devoted husband to her, no matter what his own flaws were.  
  
That evening I wrote to my sister. Holmes had retired early, so I wrote at my leisure;  
  
'Dearest Sophia,  
  
I hope this finds you well. I will not hide my intentions from you in this letter; I am writing on behalf of my good friend Holmes. Firstly, I believe he is truly sorry for his poor conduct on the last night of your stay. Ah, if only you knew the reasons! Please do not hold it against him; despite his often eccentric behaviour, I know he regards you with the utmost respect and fondness. Could he be forgiven? I have not recognised him since you have left, and, speaking from a medical view, his health is not benefiting from it. I would appreciate it very much if you wrote to him. With love, John'  
  
Even as I wrote I knew it was close to blackmail. Holmes' health seemed to be as resilient as ever, but I knew it would do him good to talk to my sister again, even if he refused to see her. 


	8. Developments

A/N – Well, I thought I'd write a nice long chapter for a change! I hope you enjoy it, and I'll enjoy any reviews you throw my way. Critical comments welcomed. I know this story has been written over a period of about 2 years, and due to this I am considering revising the early chapters as I feel my writing style has developed since then. Any opinions over this? Anyway, on with the story:  
  
A few more days passed without remark. Both Holmes and I spent the majority of our time in Baker street, often silent, yet it was a comfortable silence and I felt that our friendship was once again on a stable ground. On one morning, nearly a week later, whilst Holmes was arranging an experiment and I was looking through the latest medical journal that the post arrived. Of course, this was no extraordinary event in itself, but as I sorted through the letters I noticed one addressed to my friend, undoubtedly in my sister's hand. I passed him his share of the correspondence with my heart fairly leaping. As he browsed through the letters I tried to immerse myself in my journal, but when I heard him exclaim, I looked over my book.  
  
'Ah!'  
  
'What is it Holmes?' I asked, trying to disguise my apprehension. I saw that my sister's letter was held lightly between his thumb and forefinger, as if it was a dangerous weapon.  
  
'Oh, nothing of importance. Please excuse me for a few minutes.' Holmes walked briskly out of the room and into his bedroom.  
  
I smiled to myself. At the time I had no idea what the letter could contain, but surely, I thought to myself, anything would be better than no correspondence at all. I now have the letter at my disposal, and will lay it out here:  
  
'Dear Sherlock, (she addressed it) I do hope you are well. I have been worrying about you since our last meeting and I would like you to know that you are wholly forgiven for your conduct. I am not easily offended and it is so refreshing for me to meet somebody who fully understands my opinion that I do truly hope we can continue to be friends, for, as Sir Bacon says ' The worst solitude is to be destitute of sincere friendship'. I hope to return to London in a months' time, perhaps to establish a more stable living situation. But in the meantime I do hope we can continue this correspondence. Yours truly, Sophia'  
  
From the regular arrival of these letters I easily deduced that Holmes had finally taken up her offer – after a week of unbearable nightly pacing and an almost permanently foul mood. I do not possess his replies to her letters, and there seems little point in reiterating all of their letters. Suffice to say they bore strong signs of a growing subject, and half-sides of arguments spanning from archaic medieval literature to the state of the French prison system.  
  
A month passed quickly by; Holmes and I were engaged in a few celebrated cases.I had not written to my sister nor received any word from her for the whole month, but on one lethargic Thursday afternoon Mrs Hudson entered our rooms, holding a letter for me. It was a short note from my sister, saying that she expected to arrive in London the following Monday. She had arranged to stay in a hotel for a short time, whilst looking for a job as a typist or secretary. She eventually hoped to find a place to live permanently. I was happy, and a little excited, over the prospect of my sister staying nearby permanently, and not least because I was awaiting with keen interest a development in my two friends' friendship.  
  
Admittedly, over the last few months I had played the role of more of an interfering aunt than a friend, but this can be justified by the love I felt for my sister and friend. I wanted to see both happy, and when I saw an interest such as this developing I could not help myself but feel excited by the prospect of a romance between the two. I do confess myself to being sentimental – Holmes has often criticised me for this trait – and by this time any doubts that I had previously had were laid down and instead I was impatient for the two to meet again.  
  
On the day on my sister's arrival, Holmes was out of town, involved (I assume) in a case. I am still not sure whether this was planned deliberately to avoid my sister, but when I met her at the station she seemed upset that Holmes had not come with me, and asked after him. She soon cheered when I told her of my suspicions that he was involved in an investigation and asked me again to recount to her some of the cases that I had been involved in with Holmes. It became obvious that she was quite enchanted by my friend. I have often noticed that, although my sister is normally a very practical and concise woman, she did have a terribly romantic side to her nature. Perhaps it was the books she read in her near- solitary childhood (save me, she had few friends), but she always displayed a weakness for a romanticised view of life. Anyhow, she certainly plied me for details of political intrigue, betrayal and heroic rescues as we jangled through the streets of London in the Hansom I had hired. I left her at her hotel to settle in, and invited her to lunch at Baker street the following Wednesday. This she accepted with enthusiasm.  
  
The next day Holmes returned from, it later found out, a village in Sussex. He seemed in the best of moods, and I chose that time to tell him of my sister's arrival. To my surprise, he seemed enthusiastic about meeting her again. The rest of the day proceeded in an uneventful fashion, as did the next morning. I dare say the all of the residents of 221b Baker street were anticipating my sister's arrival, not in the least Mrs Hudson, who was delighted at entertaining somebody.  
  
Sophia arrived looking quite radiant. She had on a modest dress that was, if I remember rightly, a light yellow. Her arms were left mostly bare, once she took off the small matching jacket that she had been wearing. Her hair was fixed simply on her head and she wore little make-up. My sister did not often indulge in huge shows of wealth or vanity that many women tended to, and she looked the better for it.  
  
'Sophia, you are looking lovely!' I exclaimed, upon seeing her. She blushed slightly, and replied,  
  
'I have been searching for a job for the whole morning. I thought I should look my best if I want to be hired at all.'  
  
She grimaced slightly at this, and I realised that she was not looking forward to having to occupy herself with such mundane work as typing and keeping dates and appointments. Our father had always supported her before, but her trip to the continent and the arrangements for my brother's funeral had effectively cleared his savings. I knew she had declined any future offers of financial help from him.  
  
At this moment, Holmes walked in. He had been in his rooms for most of the morning. As was normal, his appearance was immaculate and he seemed to move with an elegance that I could only place as being due to a kind of nervous energy. Indeed, his whole body seemed to be tensed and on edge. He sat down opposite us and regarded both me and my sister. His gaze rested on her, and his lips gave a faint twitch. Like me, I am sure he had noticed how beautiful she looked. It was hard not to. After a pause he spoke,  
  
'Sophia. It is such a pleasure to see you again. And thank you for your frankly captivating correspondence over these last few months.'  
  
She gave him a warm smile and I saw Holmes relax a little. At this point, Mrs Hudson came in with a platter of steaming mutton and lunch began in earnest. Everybody congratulated Mrs Hudson on her work and I am sure that, by the time Sophia left, the lunch had been a success for everyone.  
  
A little after that, my friend began to see my sister quite regularly. As a group we would often attend the theatre or dine once a week, but I am sure that Holmes and Sophia saw each other more on their own. Holmes would often return in the night humming snatches of an opera or a melody. Thus began one of my most enjoyable periods whilst living with Holmes. His career was full and so was his social life. He seemed in a formidably good mood during these times, and never once turned to the vices which marked the days of lethargy and restlessness at Baker street. 


End file.
